


There is a Light and it Never Goes Out

by veiledhints



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (not talking about the snow, FLUFF!!!!, M/M, but that's also fluffy), coffee shop!!!!!, snowed in!!!, snowmageddon!!!!, snowpocalypse!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 13:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledhints/pseuds/veiledhints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the 2011 Chicago Snowmageddon/Snowpocalypse.</p><p>Jonny runs into Patrick's coffee shop for shelter and... things happen.<br/>(｡･ω･｡)♡ ✧*❅。</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is a Light and it Never Goes Out

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't remember, it snowed a lot... Chicago was immobilized. It was pretty cool actually. I don't think I had school for like, four days? 
> 
> Taking some liberties with the history here because I don't think the power went out at all during it, but creative license~ ❄*✧♡
> 
> Jonny is a few years older than Patrick in this and Patrick's still in college as a, get this, literature major obsessed with Thoreau. You can thank me later.

 

 

 

Patrick likes working in a coffee shop.

There’s never much to do during the closing shifts he’s always scheduled for that requires actual _work_ , maybe helps out a customer twice an hour, but they’re never that needy - coffee isn’t that hard to make and grabbing a cookie out of the case is like, the least physically straining thing in the entire world. Anyway, he spends most of the time lately doing his Literature homework; they’ve been pretty into Transcendentalism lately and Patrick’s really happy about that because in high school when they covered it, he couldn’t get enough of it. So right now, Emerson and Thoreau’s works stack the counters around Patrick. Most of them are dog-eared and highlighted in yellow to the enth, enough to make a librarian cringe - and get this, he even bought a little notebook so he could take notes on stuff he really didn’t want to forget. Life lessons and shit.

He’s in the middle of his yearly re-reading of _Walden_ \- speficially in the middle of  _Where I lived, and What I Lived For_ \- ( _Be it life or death, we crave only reality. If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel the cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business._ ) - when this guy walks in. Normally, Patrick wouldn’t even look up from his book until the person is directly in front of the till, but this guy stands with the door open for like a good 10 seconds letting seemingly all of the hot air out and all of the cold air in.

Patrick looks up to the door. _Huh_. He hadn’t realized that it was snowing that much - like, he knew it was supposed to snow tonight, but did the weatherman say anything about a blizzard of like apocalypse level magnitude? Because that’s what it looks like out there right now. He can already see the headlines: _SNOWPOCALYPSE HITS CHICAGO, 23 FROZEN ON LAKE SHORE DR._

Wait, how long had it been since he looked up from his book? He vaguely remembers someone coming in at like 2pm and saying, “Lotta snow comin’ out there, boyo,” buying a weird latte thing and then leaving just as soon as he arrived, but. That really couldn't have been that long ago? Whatever.

He only realizes that the guy can’t get the door shut and isn’t being a douchebag when he looks a little closer to see the guy physically fighting with the door to close against the wind. Patrick contemplates getting up and helping him, but the guy seems strong enough, or maybe he’s wearing a sweater underneath his black peacoat that makes him look buff, either way Patrick watches him pull it against the wind and snow. It’s a little entertaining.

The door slams shut hard enough to make the windows rattle.

“Snowing a lot, eh?” Patrick hears himself say, then he’s cringing because he hates when people say the most obvious things, but like. There’s this weird charge in the air right now, because the guy who just walked in hasn’t turned from the door and Patrick’s just staring at him from behind the counter. And for however many seconds it takes for the guy to turn around, Patrick gets more and more freaked out, like. What if this guy is here to kill him?

Shit. He hasn’t even read _Walden_  ten times.

But just as he’s thinking about what his mom would say at his funeral, the guy turns around and is shucking off his scarf to reveal a pretty nice neck that traces flawlessly into his pretty nice looking face too, so. He’s kind of okay if this guy is here to kill him.

“Sorry… about that,” he begins and he’s looking at Patrick, but it doesn’t… _feel_ like his eyes are really on him, which kind of sets Patrick’s nerves on fire across his body. “It wouldn’t, uh, close. Sorry.”

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest. “No, you’re fine. Is it pretty bad out there?” Because this is an okay question to ask since the shop faces a row of buildings, so like, hello, tall buildings mask things, but yeah. Okay, you’re right - Patrick still feels like a dumbass about asking, because yeah, obviously it’s snowy outside.

The guy laughs once and nods his head, though. “Yeah, you could say that.” He takes his gloves off and runs his fingers through his dark hair, it’s long enough where it curls out at the ends. (Patrick likes it, makes him think the dude has other things to do other than get a haircut. He can relate.) “Supposed to be the worst one of the season,” and just to prove a point maybe, the windows rattle with wind and the snow flurries around the base door, already creating another small, but growing rapidly, snowbank in front of the shop.

Patrick groans a little because he’s gonna have to shovel that at some point tomorrow, but when looks at the clock and realizes it’s 10:03pm he relaxes a little. He was supposed to close up about an hour ago, but he’d been admittedly too engrossed in his book to even realize the time (or weather) and as he’s looking at this guy standing in front of the door, something tells him forgetting the time was a good thing.

The guy must’ve seen him look at the clock because he says, “Are you supposed to be closed?” in sort of an alarmed voice and Patrick shakes his head a few times.

“No, no, no. You’re fine. I mean, yeah, we’re technically closed, but,” he holds up his book like that explains things and the guy visibly relaxes.

“Guess I’m lucky then.”

“Yeah. You could say that.” Patrick sets his book back down and rubs at his nose.

“This is a coffee shop, right?” The guy looks around the empty shop.

Patrick follows his eyes around the place and… Uh, duh, its a coffee shop? There are fucking huge acrylic paintings of coffee mugs on the walls. Maybe he missed those or something.

“Uh, yeah. Do you want something? It’s on the house.”

The guy’s eyes snap back to Patrick. “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

Patrick hops of his stool and adjusts his sweater around his waist. (It’s one of those huge cableknit ones you find at Goodwill for $4 and you think - _why did anyone throw you away?_ Jessica says he has no fashion sense, but whatever. Is he supposed to have any? What is the rule about literature majors and only wearing chunky sweaters? There’s gotta be one.)

“No, really. I was just about to make myself something anyway.” Patrick tries to make his smile seem as warm and customer-friendly as he can from across the room.

The guy just... blinks a few times at Patrick like he’s not used to someone being nice to him or something.

He starts a sentence, but it fails and a second try produces, “Ye- yeah, okay, then. Can I have -”

“Let me guess,” Patrick cuts him off, “our house blend?”

The guy takes a few steps further away from the door - further in the shop, closer to Patrick’s little corner - and unbuttons his coat more, laughing a little as he does all of this. “Am I that obvious?”

Patrick laughs with him and fills the basin up with water. “You look like the type of guy who likes a good cup of coffee. No bullshit. Handsome cup for a handsome guy.”

Wait, what the fuck was that? He _really_ needs to get a handle on this whole no-filter thing because he’s saying a lot of stupid shit -

“You say that to all the newbies?” The guy says, walking closer to the counter, his voice deeper than it was a few seconds ago. More… serious. Like he’s actually curious if Patrick spends his time flirting with new patrons.

Which, okay, no he doesn’t, but. But when he’s in the mood, you know. _You know._

Patrick laughs once, like just a _ha_ because that’s all he can really manage from hearing the tone in the guy’s voice. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” _Really_ … Uh… What is even happening to him right now? Out of the millions of combinations of words in the English language, his brain chose those.

So he tries to backtrack when he realizes how stupid he sounded: “No, I mean. I mean, I’d be offended if you didn’t want it. It’s really good. Heh.” Does that sound okay? It doesn’t, does it. Shit. Shit -

But the guy kind of smiles down at the counter and says, “I’m Jonny, by the way,” he clears his throat to punctuate it. “Just. Uh, so you know.”

Why do things feel weird right now? Are they supposed to? This guy’s only been in the shop for like, five minutes and Patrick’s already fucked things up. God, this is so typical.

He decides to say, “Patrick,” in return, but of course without turning around to face Jonny because - okay, it’s _not_ because his face is 50 shades of red or anything.

But, it sort of is.

A few moments pass. “Is this place yours?” Jonny asks, tapping on a book cover absently. He’s trying to initiate conversation. Good. Patrick can work with this.

He turns back when the coffee gets going and shakes his head, a little less flustered. “Nah,” Patrick wipes his hands down his sweater, “but the guy who owns it, Q, is a pretty cool guy.”

“Q,” Jonny repeats, shifting his lips left and right on his face. “Q.”

Then it’s silent again, just the bubbling sound of the coffee filling up behind them and the wind hitting the glass outside.

It feels less weird than it did a minute ago, thankfully, and Patrick looks at Jonny’s peacoat instead of his face because it’s _doing_ things to him, okay? (Seriously. Has he never seen an attractive guy before?) The coat is black, goes to his knees and the buttons shine in the reflection of the lamps. He can tell it’s designer just because of the way the snow is melting on the wool. It’s nice, really nice, and it makes him wonder what Jonny does for a living - because he does look a little older than Patrick, probably old enough to warrant a nice coat. (Patrick’s puffy jacket cries in the corner.) Maybe he works for some lawfirm, maybe he’s a doctor, maybe he’s a hitman. (Maybe he’s a porn star.)

As soon as the coffee is done it beeps once and Patrick turns to grab two mugs from the cabinet for the good in-house guests (“Don’t use these unless you like them,” Q had told him once. “I mean it.”) and Jonny chooses that time to speak: “I… I’m sorry I barged in, I just. I couldn’t really see in front of me and I saw the lights were still on in here, so. Thanks. For staying open. And for making me coffee.”

Patrick keeps himself turned away from Jonny. He tries to think of something nonchalant to say, like _no problem, man_ or _anytime_ \- but what comes out is, “If I would have known you were coming in, I would have made cupcakes.”

Because, you know, if Patrick’s mouth wanted him to get laid, it does a pretty shitty job at helping the process along.

Even though he’s suddenly very embarrassed about his fucking mouth and it’s disconnection to his brain, when he hears Jonny laugh genuinely from behind him, he can’t help but smile to himself and feel… less embarrassed about turning around and handing Jonny his cup.

“But really, you’re fine.” He might put a little more emphasis on ‘fine’ than he should and if he brushes his fingers on Jonny’s on purpose when he hands the cup over, that’s none of our business.

Jonny brings his cup to his mouth and smiles from behind it, then he takes a sip and his eyes dilate a little. It’s really rewarding to see people drink Q’s blend for the first time. (Reason #112 why Patrick likes working here.)

“What are you reading?” He nods his head down to the counter, covered in books.

“Right now?” Patrick says as he swallows, which makes his voice sound choked and awkward - a little too eager for being asked about books. Jonny shouldn’t have asked that question honestly, but hey, he is a literature major. So it’s only natural for him to get eager about this kind of stuff. He has like, a right to fanboy about this stuff. “Thoreau’s _Walden_ , but I'm in the middle of  _Where I Lived, and What I Lived For_. It’s… so good. I try to read it every year, like since high school. I think I learn more from one Thoreau book than any classes I’ve taken. He just, is a real man. I admire that, you know? It’s nice.” Jonny looks bemused. “Ever read it?”

To Patrick’s surprise, Jonny nods. “Yeah, in college. I had a pretty cool Literature professor, he loved those guys.”

Patrick totally smiles too wide at first, but he fixes a smaller, cooler smile on his face before he tries to speak. “Yeah, mine does too.” Patrick touches the cover of the book absentmindedly. “But I’m just reading to read it, I guess. Again.”

Jonny does this half-smirk thing and puts his elbows on the counter and leans in, voice thick again, “ _All intelligences awake with the morning_. Fitting you work here, huh?” He takes a drink of his coffee and blinks slowly like he didn’t just rock Patrick’s world in two.

On the other side of the counter, Patrick’s trying really hard not to, like, die right now in front of Jonny? It’s taking a lot out of him, honestly. He’s never met someone who can actually _quote_ any of Thoreau, except his professor, but. Here’s this random guy who just walked into Patrick’s life, saying it off the top of his head like it’s no big deal to him.

And shit. Shit. He needs to say something because he’s been staring for a little too long at Jonny.

“Yeah,” but it comes out breathless, so he pauses, with his heart in his throat. “Yeah.”

Jonny licks his lips. “You were right, this is damn good coffee.” Okay, either he’s completely unaware that he’s sort of killing Patrick, or he’s completely aware that he is, _either way_ he completely keeps his cool.

Patrick on the other hand can only say, “Yeah,” a million and twenty times and if he wasn’t really sure that he grew up normally, at this moment he’d be pretty sure he grew up in a commune where they people never spoke to each other.

Jonny laughs again and keeps drinking calmly.

“I -” ( _I think I love you_ ) he begins, but then to Patrick’s surprise, his brain kicks in and speaks for him - albeit messily and he stutters a few times as he does but, “Uh, let’s see what’s happening out there,” comes out okay enough.

He almost lunges for the remote and turns on the TV to the news. The poor, poor shlup Channel 4 has forced out into the snow is standing in what _looks_ like Millenium park, but it’s snowing so hard you can barely make out anything behind him. He says - yells, “Snowmageddon is in full force down here! It’s really -” then he’s cut off by the snow blowing hard at him, knocking him off balance, then the camera kind of flickers too - then suddenly they’re back in the studio. The woman behind the desk looks a little freaked out momentarily before she says, “Snowmageddon… the Snowpocalypse, seems to be hitting downtown Chicago pretty hard. We’ve been advised to stay indoors, do not under any circumstances head outdoors tonight, folks.”

Jonny looks to Patrick, and for a moment Patrick’s sure he’s gonna say something like he’s gonna go back out there anyway because he’s got to get home to his wife - but then Jonny’s laughing.

“If I’d’ve known I’d be spending the night in a coffee shop, I'da brought cupcakes.”

Then they’re both laughing and Patrick feels like maybe the exact situation of tonight hasn’t really hit either of them because he’s not sure why they’re laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You said when you read them you were in college?”

“What?” Jonny asks, tilting his head up from the couch. “When I was in college? Yeah. I read books, Patrick. We all do.”

Patrick chuckles and throws one of the cushions at Jonny’s head. “When were you in college, even? You can’t be that much older than me.”

“I’m twenty-six.” Jonny scratches his head and props himself up on an elbow to get a proper look at Patrick sitting on one of the leather chairs kitty-corner from him. “You’re probably, like, what twenty-four?”

Patrick nods his head and fidgets his hands around in his lap. “Last year in school. Kept going for my masters and all that shit.”

Jonny _hmms_ and closes his eyes. “I’m a lawyer.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

“Funny.”

It’s quiet again in the shop.

About an hour ago the power went out - like flat out, black out suddenly. Admittedly, Patrick did scream when it happened, but then he felt Jonny’s hand on his shoulder and he… stopped being scared? It was weird, because like, the first moment he saw Jonny he thought he was gonna kill him and then less than two hours later, Jonny’s touch is calming him down? He tries to tell his body to calm the fuck down about Jonny - because he really only knows… _nothing_ about Jonny, but there’s still this wave of heat that surges through his body when Jonny smiles at him. And, fuck, considering that Patrick already lost track of how many times Jonny’s smiled at him tonight, he thinks it’s a little okay his heart rate is higher than it should be.

After the power went out, Jonny says, “It’s gonna get cold in here. Does that fireplace work?” and then, like it’s a movie or something, Patrick’s watching Jonny actually _make_ a fire - in the fireplace he wasn’t even sure was a real thing - in front of him for them.

Patrick leaves him to make the fire to go in the back where Q keeps the blankets and other odd things that don’t really belong stacked in the shelves with coffee. (Because Q is always ready for the apocalypse, apparently?) He grabs two of them, feels his way back out to the front. He’d probably only been gone for about… two minutes? But in those two minutes, Jonny’s already got a pretty good fire going and Patrick finds Jonny crouched down in front of it, staring at it like he’s actually _willing_ the flames to keep going pretty funny looking, so Patrick laughs at him.

“You look too concentrated.” He throws a blanket at Jonny and he wobbles a little when it hits him, but turns to smile over his shoulder at Patrick.

“We had a wood stove growing up. Knowing how to make fires is basically in my DNA.”

Patrick shakes his head and, “What are you?” comes out very fond, instead of very concerned like Patrick wanted it to.

“Canadian,” Jonny replies, unfazed. He stands up and nods his head at the blanket, seemingly satisfied with it’s texture. “Just very Canadian.”

And that… really explains so much.

They fall into pretty easy conversation after they’ve settled down; Jonny laid out on the leather couch (which Q apparently stole from his college roommate) with the blanket almost comically not even long enough to cover his ankles and Patrick on one of the recliners near him, with his legs crossed up onto it and the blanket wrapped up and around him like he’s an old Russian grandma (Jonny’s words - not his).

Jonny’s just talking about… _things_ , really. Just things about the snow, how it reminds him of when he used to play pick-up hockey in his street in Winnipeg with his brother and neighbors, how he misses living in Canada, but he loves Chicago a lot, and Patrick finds it so easy to listen to him drone on about nothing. He cuts in sometimes with snarky (read: flirty) comments, just to make (read: hear) Jonny laugh, but he lets Jonny talk to him for like two hours - before he can’t physically keep his mouth shut about Jonny quoting Thoreau to him.

“I mean, like, no one’s ever just quoted it to me. I kind of swooned over you.” He exhales a laugh and looks at his hands then, suddenly feels naked for some reason - like he’s chosen the wrong words _again_ \- so he pulls his sleeves over his hands and that… fixes it almost. _Almost_ because Jonny doesn’t laugh like Patrick hoped he would have, instead he sits up to throw a log on the fire but is silent when he does it.

The fire takes the log happily, they’re both watching it burn along for a long moment or two and Patrick is about to open his mouth to ask Jonny if he’s hungry when,

“I’m really happy the door was unlocked,” Jonny says, it’s almost a whisper, like Patrick’s not supposed to hear it or something. But he does, his face flushes and he wants to tell Jonny _yeah, me too_ , but he doesn’t.

Maybe the warm silence says enough for them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Well, maybe a little, maybe it was between Jonny talking about how Canada was really cool and Patrick should visit Winnipeg sometime with him and Jonny wrapping his scarf around Patrick’s neck and brushing the blonde curls out of his face - either way, he wakes up and Jonny’s still knocked out and curled up on the couch, snoring a little. It’s cute, Patrick thinks absentmindedly, then he realizes that it’s really fucking cold in here.

He looks over at the fire, it’s got some color left in it - like Jonny kept it going for as long as he could stay awake - so he decides to be domestic and tries to start it himself again so he can leave Jonny sleeping for a little bit longer.

Long story short, it goes terrible. Because did you know making a fire is really complicated? It’s not like humans have been making fires since like humans were humans or anything.

He must be groaning loudly or something because after about ten minutes of poking at the fire, pause to breathe hot air on his fingers, poking at it again, he feels Jonny’s hand on his shoulder.

“You’re gonna end up burning the place down.” Patrick looks up to him, Jonny’s smiling really quite fondly down at him and it makes Patrick forget that it’s really fucking cold in this place.

He looks back at his pathetic attempt at a fire. “You were asleep.”

Jonny sits down next to him and knocks his knee against Patrick’s. “You have ash on your face.”

He goes to wipe it off of Patrick’s cheek and of course that’s when Patrick blurts, “Uh, I kinda. I wanted to say this before the snow is all gone and you leave forever or something but, I’m really happy I left the door unlocked too. And I’m -”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence - _And I’m really happy you know how to make a fire because I’m really cold_ \- because Jonny’s mouth is on his, his fingers working through Patrick’s hair, pulling his head closer. The kiss feels like how they were talking - Patrick just lets Jonny do most of the work and Patrick feels perfectly okay with letting him do that just as long as Jonny’s mouth is on his.

But after a minute, Jonny breaks off the kiss, grinning very brightly at him. “Yeah, me too, Patrick.” Then he laughs as he catches his breath, threading his fingers further into Patrick’s hair, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“Kane. Patrick Kane. My middle name is Timothy, I’m actually a second -” Jonny cuts him off with kissing again, but he’s kissing his teeth because Patrick’s smiling too big at him.

He stops a second later, when Patrick doesn’t stop smiling at him. “Toews. My last name is Toews.”

Patrick grins harder and says, “Mr. Toews, you have ash on your face," and rubs his thumb on Jonny's chin really just _spreading_ more ash on his face, but then both of them are smiling too big and dumbly at each other to do anything but kiss at each others teeth. It's messy and awkward, but Patrick thinks, maybe he likes snow more than he likes working in a coffee shop.

And maybe likes Jonny more than he likes either of those things combined. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snowmaggedon ends up being the biggest snowstorm in like… a long time or something. Patrick really didn’t pay attention to the schematics of it all, he just tells Jonny that the Gods wanted them to be together because why else would they freeze Chicago? Obviously someone up there wanted them together. Just like that one movie? What was it called… Uh…

“The Adjustment Bureau?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Jonny snorts. “I really don’t think there are people running around up there making sure it started snowing like fuck just as I got out of work so I would be forced into your coffee shop, Patrick,” Jonny says, grabbing both of their plates from the table and walking to set them in the sink. “Maybe… Red string of fate?”

“That’s even cheesier,” Patrick laughs, but he stands up and follows Jonny to the sink, wrapping his arms around Jonny’s waist. He says, “I like it more,” into Jonny’s back and hugs tight.

“Yeah, I knew you would.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

la finitura~ 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Smith's song "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out".
> 
> It snowed ONCE here so far and I'm already obsessed with fics that have anything to do with snow. 
> 
> So. Get on that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, by the way! Means a lot even if you didn't like it. (•ᴗ•)♡


End file.
